


A Matter of Size

by dragons_in_the_north



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, jimmy's insecure about his masculinity must be tuesday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28031568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragons_in_the_north/pseuds/dragons_in_the_north
Summary: [in Ivy's voice]Sorry, didn't mean to insult your manhood.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	A Matter of Size

Some days, Jimmy was almost agreeable towards Alfred. Some days, he left Ivy alone, and let Alfred shuffle his lucky deck of cards, and didn’t try to sneak his share of the silver polishing over to Alfred’s side of the room. Some days, they were something close to friends.

But mostly they weren’t.

When Alfred jostled the table in the servants’ hall as he walked by, and Jimmy narrowly avoided spilling hot tea down his front, he hissed, “Watch it, you overgrown ninny!”

It was the fourth time he had insulted Alfred that day. Apparently that was one time too many, for Alfred’s face went as red as his hair. He replied hotly, “I know why you’re always sayin’ things about how tall I am.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s ’cause you look ridiculous.”

“No,” said Alfred. “It’s because you’re _jealous._ You’re short, and you can’t bear it.”

A tinny ringing echoed in Jimmy’s head. “I’m not short!”

At that moment, Thomas appeared in the doorway, the paper tucked under his arm and an unlit cigarette between his pursed lips. He sensed immediately that he’d wandered into something, and raised his eyebrows curiously at the two footmen. He caught Jimmy’s eye, a tiny, secret smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. Jimmy felt—as he always did when Thomas was near, since… since things had _changed_ between them—a tendril of warmth unfurling in his chest.

He said, “Thom—Mr Barrow, tell Alfred I’m not short.”

Thomas spun on his heel to face Alfred, every inch the intimidating under-butler, and Jimmy couldn’t quite swallow a triumphant grin. “I wouldn’t say such things if I were you, Alfred,” Thomas said. Then he smiled like a snake. “Why, I reckon he’s only a _little_ below average in terms of length.”

Jimmy felt his stomach drop through the floor. Alfred’s immediate bark of laughter dissolved into a frown. “Don’t you mean _height,_ Mr Barrow?”

“Yes, of course.” Thomas’ cool, grey eyes stared directly into Jimmy’s. “My mistake.”

But Jimmy knew precisely what he’d meant. His mind flashed back to the night before, to lying sprawled on Thomas’ sheets while a half-dressed Thomas peeled off Jimmy’s trousers and pants, gazing down at the picture Jimmy made as if it were something quite remarkable indeed. Of course he’d noticed, on that occasion and those which had come before, that Thomas was bigger—only a _bit,_ mind you—but he’d always assumed it was a matter of his lover being especially blessed.

He’d never thought that, for Thomas, he might have failed to measure up.

Back in the servants’ hall, Thomas lowered himself into his favoured chair by the fireplace, pages of the paper rustling as he settled in to read. Jimmy’s cheeks burned. He refused to look at him, or at Alfred’s stupid grinning face. He and Thomas had been carrying on for only a few weeks; it all still felt very new. Sometimes he would get so bloody _nervous_ —but when those moments arose, he would remind himself of the unshakeable fact that Thomas adored him. Perhaps it wasn’t so unshakeable, though. Perhaps the bloom was well and truly off the rose now that any bedroom mystery was gone. Perhaps Thomas had been secretly laughing at him since he’d seen… what there was to see, intending to throw him over just as soon as he found someone more satisfactory.

Despite his best efforts, hot tears pricked Jimmy’s eyes. Crying in front of Thomas was a miserable notion, but crying in front of the ginger git was simply unacceptable. He stumbled to his feet, forcing himself to walk, not run down the hall and out into the courtyard. As he leaned back against the rough brick, he felt around in his pocket for a packet of cigarettes, only to come up empty. He’d fallen out of the habit of carrying fags on him, because Thomas would typically offer one without him even having to ask, extending his lighter in a gesture as intimate as they were allowed out in public. Well, Jimmy would just have to go without, then.

He didn’t sob like some lovesick girl, thank God, although he may have sniffled once or twice as he watched thin, white clouds sail across the expanse of blue sky, propelled forward by a harsh, Northern wind.

It didn’t take long before Jimmy heard footfall upon cobblestones and sensed a quiet, unreadable presence at his elbow. Wordlessly, Thomas held out a cigarette as a peace offering. Jimmy’s pride warred with—and was summarily trounced by—the twitching of his fingers, the demanding buzz that crowded his head at the promise of tobacco. As he inhaled a puff of smoke, Thomas lit another fag for himself. They smoked a while in uneasy silence. That was fine. Just so long as Jimmy didn’t say anything stupid.

“Why would you say something like that?” he whispered fiercely. “In front of _Alfred,_ of all people?”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. _Don’t look at him,_ Jimmy told himself. _Don’t._ He risked a glance. The stiff wind that threatened to extinguish their cigarettes brought a rush of colour to Thomas’ cheeks and set his pale eyes glittering. His nose in profile dipped down in the perfect arc; Jimmy ached to run his lips along the bridge. It was no bloody fair—as soon as he’d broken Jimmy’s heart, the man ought to have transformed into a hideous beast, like something out of a fairy story. Jimmy shouldn’t still want him so.

Thomas looked around—making certain they were really alone—before inclining his head and saying in an undertone, “I rather hoped you would get all worked up, and give me a thorough buggering tonight to prove me wrong.” He added, a touch apologetically, “Clearly it worked a little too well.”

Oh. He’d only been teasing.

Jimmy was reminded of the previous Sunday, when Thomas had indulged in a second helping of Mrs Patmore’s pudding, which led to Jimmy pinching his side and warning him his waistcoat buttons were fit to pop. Thomas had replied tartly that no matter how fat he became, he could still best Jimmy in any physical competition he cared to name. After everyone else was asleep, they tussled about in a wrestling match on the floor of Thomas’ room. Any question of his fitness was resolved when he pinned Jimmy’s arms above his head and sucked a love bite at the base of his throat. But—

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” said Jimmy. A polished shoe ground out his fag with unnecessary force. “What you said.”

Thomas sighed heavily. “Jimmy, you’re certainly not the smallest—”

“I’m not the _biggest_ either, now am I?”

Pinching out a glowing stub between pale, slender fingers, Thomas rolled his eyes. “The _biggest_ was a sailor from Blackpool who left me sore for a week, and not in the way I’d wished for.”

Jimmy felt his face go hard. “He hurt you?” In front of his eyes swam a vision of a battered Thomas crouched on the dirty ground beneath a bridge in Thirsk. He’d made a promise to himself that day—before they were lovers, before they were even friends, really—that if he couldn’t prevent Thomas from coming to harm again, he could at least make certain he didn’t face it alone.

Thomas’ brows shot up. “No! No, not like what you’re thinking. He wasn’t careful, that’s all. And he didn’t bother to, ah, return the favour, if you catch my meaning.” Jimmy blushed. The fingertips of the hand wrapped in its leather glove brushed against his knuckles for one stuttering beat of his heart. “My _point,_ ” Thomas continued, “is that I’ve had exceptional lovers, and I’ve had lousy ones. _That_ particular quality didn’t hold as much sway over which was which as you seem to believe.”

Swallowing around a suddenly dry throat, Jimmy asked, “What _does_ make a good lover, then? In your opinion?”

He expected Thomas to tease him all the worse. Instead his expression softened into unimaginable tenderness, rosy mouth moving to shape words, to express some staggering depth of feeling—but he faltered. He turned away, and coughed, and fiddled with his lighter. Jimmy wouldn’t stand for it. He bit his lip, peered up at Thomas from behind his eyelashes in a way he knew drove the other man wild. “Go on, tell me.”

A smile drifted across Thomas’ face, quirked up higher on one side than the other. He said, very gently, “I’ve recently learned it can be absolutely wonderful when you share your bed with someone you love madly.”

Jimmy’s head swung ’round as he too searched for prying eyes. Finding none, he reached out and took the gloved hand trembling beside his own, squeezing it tightly. “D’you know, Mr Barrow, I figured that one out for meself.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated. You can also find me on tumblr at donnqnoble.


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